


the world fades away

by quakeriders



Series: feysand kinktober 2019 [4]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Court of Nightmares, Exhibitionism, F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Orgy, Public Sex, Ritual Public Sex, Ritual Sex, mild choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 15:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20893982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: Feyre looked down at her court. From up here, most of them looked like caricatures of living beings. Their bodies morphed into one and she couldn’t tell where one body ended and the other began. Their rhythmic dancing lulled her into a false sense of calm and she almost forgot that she still had a part to play this night.Rhys’ thumb was gently rubbing at the inside of her knee, a steady motion meant to maybe calm him as much as her.kinktober, day 04: exhibitionism / public sex + ritual sex + orgy





	the world fades away

Feyre looked down at her court. From up here, most of them looked like caricatures of living beings. Their bodies morphed into one and she couldn’t tell where one body ended and the other began. Their rhythmic dancing lulled her into a false sense of calm and she almost forgot that she still had a part to play this night.

Rhys’ thumb was gently rubbing at the inside of her knee, a steady motion meant to maybe calm him as much as her.

When Rhys had told her about this rite, almost two months ago, Feyre had laughed. It had taken her more than twenty minutes to believe him that he was being serious.

But now here she was, wearing a thin silk dress, with high slits and no underwear. And the court beneath her feet was moving against each other, overcome by the drink they had shared not an hour before.

Her own goblet sat on a low table between hers and Rhys’ thrones and whenever she thought of it, her throat dried up.

It felt like a dream. Watching high fae sway to the low beat of the drums, hear gasps of pleasure and pain from the far corners of the throne room as one after another, the high fae trapped beneath this mountain succumbed to the effects of the wine.

"It’s time." Rhys muttered quietly, squeezing her leg softly and reaching for his own goblet.

She twisted in her seat to look at him and he gave her a small smirk before drowning the whole thing in one go. His lip licked up a drop of wine that had spilled onto his bottom lip and watched her carefully.

Feyre exhaled a long, deep breath and reached for her own intricate goblet. It was made of gold and was carved with intricate vines and beings so much like the beasts that decorated this hall.

She brought the goblet up to her lips and felt the attention of many more people than just her mate. Then she drank deeply and didn’t stop until her goblet was empty as well.

As it trickled down her throat and into her stomach, a strange warmth seeped into her skin. Then that warmth spread to her arms and legs and began to prickle at her fingertips.

A soft sigh escaped her lips and Rhys’ chuckle pulled her attention to him.

It didn’t seem possible, but Rhysand had started to glow. Not like she did, when she was happy. No. While the damper on his power had loosened, something beside those dark shadows emitted from him.

Like a soft light to guide her where she needed to go.

Before Feyre knew it, she had risen from her seat and was standing before Rhys. His legs parted to pull her closer and Feyre’s hands had reached for him, gripping him by his shoulders and trying to push him back.

"Rhys." Her voice had dropped to a quiet, desperate whisper and her mate’s smile had turned into something dark and wicked.

That look alone made her ache for him.

But the drums that had been silent and easily ignored before drinking the wine, now sounded impossibly loud and felt as though it commanded her blood to pound faster through her veins.

And Feyre felt something, she had never felt before. There was a strange connection to the other souls inside this hall. She felt for once, like they had more in common than the things that separated them.

Rhys’ hand slid up and around her waist, pulling her closer. Then he burrowed his face into the fabrics that pooled over her stomach and inhaled deeply.

"Cauldron, you smell divine." He grumbled and tightened his grip on her.

She could say the same thing about him. Since drinking the wine, her nose was filled with that citrus and sea scent of his, beckoning her closer, begging her to touch, to taste, to take.

Feyre let the barriers in her mind fall, reaching out for him and felt the same desperate urge echoed in his soul.

She couldn’t take it anymore, she pushed him hard, forcing him to lean back in his throne and then lowered herself down onto his lap. The airy fabric of her dress bunched around her thighs and she pulled them away so that he could easily reach for her.

And he did.

She had barely managed to bend her legs around him, when one of his hands snuck between her legs and eagerly slipped between her folds.

A rough moan was Feyre only reply. That and a twisting of her hips to grant him better access. The hair that had been left unbound stuck to her wet lips and she impatiently brushed it away, over her shoulders and leaned forward to watch as Rhys slipped two fingers into her already wet core.

Moans were filling the air now. Not just Feyre’s, but from so many different throats. So many different fae. All of them under the influence of the wine. All of them trying to release their pleasure to fulfill their part of the rite.

Rhys twisted his hand, pushing his fingers deeper and harder into her and pressing his palm against her clit each time. Feyre hadn’t realised it, but her own hands had began kneading her breasts, pulling at her nipples through the thin fabric and twisting them until she began to shake.

His movements were quick and sharp. Not to tease but to make her break around him as fast as possible. And it worked, Feyre’s orgasm almost surprised her with its sudden intensity and she gripped her breasts so hard that it hurt.

But when she could breathe again, Rhys had withdrawn his fingers and pushed them against her parted lips. She licked his fingers clean, enjoying the taste of herself on his skin and moaned around him.

He let out a satisfied hum and then shifted. Feyre understanding what he meant to do, reached for his pants and undid them before he could. She wrapped one hand around his cock, stocking him as fast as he had moved in her and watched him grit his teeth.

When he was rock hard in her hands, she rose onto her knees, the throne hard and uncomfortable beneath her, and lowered herself onto him.

Despite the clamour around them, she knew that everyone could hear the wet squelching sound her body emitted when Rhys’ cock bottomed out and Feyre gripped his shoulders hard.

They hadn’t even begun to move and already Feyre felt like burning up.

And when she started to twist her hips, rocking down on him until their hips ground together, Feyre lunged forward and captured his bottom lip with her teeth.

Rhys growled at her, the sound more animalistic than anything she had heard before and a spark went through her. Then his hands were on her waist, holding on tightly and slamming her down onto him so hard that she had to let go of his lips to scream.

Feyre threw her head back, sitting up and letting Rhys move her body against his in a rhythm that was hard and brutal and made her feel like she would break apart if he went on for one more second.

But she loved every moment of it.

Loved it, as her throat burned from her moans and her knees hurt from sliding against the rough seat.

Rhys’ lips closed around her neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark that wouldn’t heal as soon as it appeared. Not tonight. And she cherished them, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and slipping her hand into his hair to hold him closer.

Rhys’ breath came out fast and hard and he began thrusting up into her in time with the movement of slamming her down towards him. The impact was so hard that Feyre’s clit burned from the contact and before she knew it, another orgasm rolled through her, causing tears to prick at the corners of her eyes.

Suddenly, Rhys twisted her around and Feyre faced their court. With tears in her eyes and her lips parted to gasp for air. But the magic wasn’t done with them yet, wouldn’t likely be done with the High Lord and Lady until it had drank its fill, so Feyre sat up and rode Rhys without looking at him. She found a spot in the far corner, a couple pressed against the wall. The female had golden-blonde hair and her mouth was parted in a perfect o as the male fucked her so hard that Feyre could see the thin lines of blood that the nails of the female had carved into his back.

Feyre began moving, rocking into Rhys, who’s hands had found her breast and were pulling on her nipples and rolling them in a way that made Feyre want to loose her mind. Her bones ached as she rocked into Rhys and felt him pant into her neck before one of his hands slid up her chest and wrapped around her throat. His grip was light, barely a caress but Feyre’s eyes fell shut and she sat up to lean into him as they moved together.

She felt him strain, felt his muscles tense and when his fingers dug harder into her neck and he thrust up erratically, Feyre knew what to expect.

He came into her, warm and wet and didn’t let go of her neck until she felt him soften inside her.

Once he did, Rhys’ hand slid lazily down her body, the gesture so claiming and so welcome that Feyre couldn’t help but smile. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying the sounds around them, enjoying the warm tickle of breath at her ear, enjoying the rough callouses that gently traced along her hips.

She let her head fall back onto his shoulder and felt him harden once more. This time, there was less urgency across their bond and Feyre slowly turned around to face him. With her forehead pressed against his, both of them sweaty and stick, she slowly began to move on him.

A small sigh escaped his lips and when their eyes met, Feyre could have sworn that the magic felt satisfied. Not done, but satisfied with what they were offering.


End file.
